


What You Would Ask of Me

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [289]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, In Every 'Verse They Know Each Other So Well, Kindred Spirits, M/M, Sugar Daddy Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The card was of fine stock, but worn; the last, Hannibal thought, of a long-ago purchased pack. It read: “Mr. William Graham.”





	What You Would Ask of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [This](https://mistikfir.tumblr.com/post/185347454577/madame-bovary-2000-are-you-going-to-take-me-to).

The card was of fine stock, but worn; the last, Hannibal thought, of a long-ago purchased pack. It read: “Mr. William Graham.”

Hannibal smiled to himself and nudged the tray away with two fingers. “Send him in.”

He was thin, this Mr. Graham, pale of face and gaunt in expression. His suit had been tailored to him once but now hung from his body, indifferent. He looked timid, a man shrunken by life--appeared, that is, until he met Hannibal’s eyes. The man might have fallen on hard times, he might be poor of pocket and stressed by the unfamiliar inconveniences of poverty, but Mr. Graham was no mouse in a man’s clothing, as so many of Hannibal’s afternoon visitors were. Somewhere, not so far beneath the surface, Hannibal suspected, there lay a lion inside.

“Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Lecter.”

“Of course.” A smooth gesture, a clean cut of his hand through the air. “Please, sit.”

William’s eyes cut from Hannibal’s face to the chair opposite and back. “No, thank you. I shan’t be staying long.”

“Very well. How may I be of service to you?”

“I have heard...that is, a colleague has told me that you”--the man’s cheeks were red now, a delightful contrast to his dark, wild curls--“I understand that you are sometimes willing to help a gentleman who unexpectedly finds himself in need.”

Hannibal leaned back and steepled his fingers; the beast within him chuckled and preened. “From time to time, I have done so,” he said. “But only in the rarest of circumstances. Is your circumstance rare, Mr. Graham?”

“To myself it is, sir, though I have no doubt others have suffered from it.”

“Tell me.”

“My father died a few months ago. What little funds that remained in his name after years dedicated to drink have been taken.”

“Illegally?”

“No. But unfairly.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“He owed a great deal of money to a great many people, first and foremost, it seems, the Crown. And rather than allow me to present some sort of case as to why my mother and I should not be held to account for my father’s poor judgements, the government has confiscated nearly every last cent. We are quite destitute.”

“I am sorry. The Crown is not known for its logic.”

“No, indeed, sir, but I have never known it before to be cruel! Were it a matter only affecting myself, I would find a way, Dr. Lecter, I assure you; I would have no need of your help. But the thought of my mother on the street--and that is no exaggeration; such a future is near--I cannot bear.” He turned his eyes upon Hannibal, twin fires. “And so--”

“And so,” Hannibal said cooly, “you have brought yourself to my door.” He picked up his teacup. “You understand, do you not, that this problem is the very definition of common? So many of your English are poor caretakers of fortunes, are you not?"

The man’s spine stiffened. “As I said, it is unique in my experience. I can’t speak to those of others.”

“Be that as it may, to me, it is not an interesting problem at all.” Hannibal took a sip, let the tea scald his tongue, swept his eyes over William Graham’s lovely, twisted face as the pretense of good manners slipped. “Why is it you think I should help you at all?”

“Because.” It was the voice of a rattlesnake. “I know what it is you ask for in return for your assistance. I know what you would ask of me, how you would seek to debase me, and still I came.”

“That you are well-informed will earn you no prize, Mr. Graham.”

“Won’t it?” William took a step towards him, color seeping up above his collar. “What if I tell you I’d welcome it, whatever you chose to do to me? That no matter how foul I find your desires, for the right sum, I will not resist?”

_ Dievas _ , the man made Hannibal’s blood hot. He made his fingers itch, too, itch to take and to  tear and to peel back the propriety that William seemed so ready to shed. Instead, he bade them to rest his cup in its saucer and this they did, of course, steadily. 

“What if,” he said, his voice equally even, “I preferred that you did resist?”

“If that is what you wish.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is an academic question, anyway. I have no desire to help.”

“Perhaps not,” William hissed, “but from everything I know about you, Doctor, you could desire me.”

“And what is this that you know?”

“I know that you like to bite. I know that it pleases you to leave to marks. I know that nothing in the act of love pleases you so much as making those you bed beg for their release.” William’s eyes were wide, fear belied by the blade in his voice. “Would you like to hear me beg, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal’s beast brought him to his feet, a calculated attempt to resist. “No. I want you to leave.”

“No, you don’t.” William’s fingers found his lapels. “You want me to stay. You want me to let you unbutton my waistcoat and take down my trousers and stroke my cock until I can no longer stand it. And that will only make you stroke me more.”

He breathed in the man’s smell: warm sweat and fog, uncertainty and unmistakably, desire. “I need not pay you for such a privilege, Mr. Graham. If I wished it, you would already be bared to me.”

A smile, small and beautifully savage. “Oh, but you would, Doctor, if you ever wished to touch me again."

It had been a long, long time since Hannibal had been kissed, since another man’s mouth had turned itself to his and licked open his lips. Longer still since he had stood still and allowed it, the sweet ravages of another; closed his eyes and tangled his hands in the man’s hair and permitted him to set the pace--slow quick quick slow, slow; no purpose other than pleasure, no desire other than to find the divine. And oh, Hannibal thought, feeling William’s hands slide up to cup his neck, there was a fallen angel in this one indeed.

When William gave him breath again, he said: “How much do you require?”

“500 hundred pounds.”

“Is that all?”

“Every year.”

“For how long?”

William hummed. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“You will live here with me,” Hannibal said. It was clear to him now, his future--a bright, solid line. “You will live here and and my bed will be yours and I shall have you whenever I like.”

“Very well. Then I require the same.”

Hannibal reached for the man’s buttons and began parting his shirt, his fingers moving too eagerly, tearing. “The same?" he muttered. "The same what?”

A flutter against his throat, a groan. “I shall have you, Dr. Lecter, whenever I’d like.”


End file.
